An Unexpected Turn of Events
by ArthurDent2
Summary: It starts on a normal, well normal enough for Sherlock and John, day. Then, everything turns to madness. Madness that, may or may not, entail: cats, bath time, horrendous haircuts, and a tower (*hint hint). A crack!fic collaboration with 'Imaginethat27'.


**A/N: Hello, dear readers. :) Welcome back, or rather... I am back. Whoops. I suck. **

**However that is not what I am trying to say here. The important thing is that you enjoy this crazy little (not really) crack!fic that I have composed for you here. I realise that it's a bit long for one chapter, but really, who gives a hoot? Just have fun!**

**NOTE: This is a complete collaboration. Half is written by yours truly, and the other by the lovely 'Imaginethat27'. It's all jumbled up though, like every other paragraphy section (?) is me and the others are done by them, it's difficult to separate though, so just kind of remember that it is all shared, every so often. You won't know who wrote what! Mystery... Yeah, so, props to 'Imaginethat27' too, and thank you so much for writing this with me! It was utterly ridiculous and loads of fun. **

**ENJOY! :D**

* * *

John was almost not surprised at this point, after this long of living with Sherlock, when he came home to find a living room full of cats. He sighed and brought his hand to his face, rubbing his temples.

"Sherlock?" he called, not angry but still slightly annoyed.

A head popped up from around the corner, "Yes, John?"

"Why is our house full of cats?"

Sherlock's eyes brightened, and he suddenly, very enthusiastically, he said, "Isn't it marvelous?" as he stepped forward to show his arm full of more, you guessed it, cats.

"What? No, it's not bloody marvelous! What is going on?"

Sherlock grinned, before setting down the cats, which lay in his arms.

"It's for an experiment, John," he stated, before pulling another twenty cats from the depths of his coat, and another sixteen from his dark, curly locks.

"Sherlock," John whined, "you promised no more unsupervised experiments after the Marshmallow Disaster."

Sherlock removed another fourteen cats, which were nestled amongst the crotch area of his trousers.

"John," he sighed, "that Marshmallow 'Disaster', as you call it, was perfectly controlled."

John buried his face in his hands as Sherlock pulled another ten cats out of a copy of 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy,' twenty-two from the depths of the sofa, and about thirty-five off of John, as they began crawling up his trouser leg, purring happily as they clawed at the denim material.

"Sherlock, what do you mean experiment? What sort of bloody experiment would involve this many cats?"

Sherlock ignored him, now gathering all the cats into one group, and putting a gold star sticker on each one's individual forehead. "SHERLOCK!"

He suddenly remembered John's presence and quickly stood, looking a bit worried, but quickly stuck a gold star onto John's forehead as well; to make sure he was not feeling left out, and gave him a satisfied smile. 'There we go."

John could not do anything but stare at Sherlock in surprise, confusion, and now building anger.

"Sherlock, I swear to god, if you don't explain the cats right now, I will throw them, one by one, out of that window. Do you understand?" John said in a voice that was so calm, that it was even more threatening.

Sherlock looked at him, horrified. "Why would you do that?" he asked quietly.

"Sherlock..." John repeated, warningly.

Sherlock cowered under John's gaze, before he suddenly darted into the kitchen.

"SHERLOCK!" John screeched, attempting to run after him, but tripping over a sea of cats in his haste. He fell to the floor, and the cats instantly jumped on top of him, enchanted by his mere presence.

"Oh god!" John screamed, "I'm being smothered by cats! Sherlock, help me!"

John closed his eyes as a sea of fluffy fur erupted over him, complete with choruses of meowing and purring.

Suddenly, John felt himself lifted from the cat sea and hoisted-bridal style-into Sherlock's arms. As John recovered, he now noticed that Sherlock was butt naked, save that of a Superman 'S' which was covering his... erm... 'private regions.'

"Sherlock!" John wept with joy, "you saved my life!"

Sherlock looked deeply into John's fanfiction blue eyes, with his smouldering grey, no, blue, no, green, no, multicoloured? ... oh hell, with his EYES. "Of course, John. I would be lost without my blogger," he claimed, his voice now husky.

John couldn't help but blush, but then he realised that Sherlock was staring very intensely at his lips. Wait, what? Hold on. What the hell was going on?

John cleared his throat and Sherlock's gaze averted back to his eyes. "Uh, Sherlock, do you think you could put me down now? You know, since the danger is, well, gone for the moment..."

For a very brief moment John could of sworn he saw a look of disappointment cross Sherlock's face, but it was so quickly changed back to his cool collected look, that he couldn't be sure. "Yes, of course."

Sherlock set him down gently, away from the now growing sea of cats; they should probably fix that...

They shared an awkward moment, both looking at anything but the other man, before John said, "Yeah, well, thanks for saving my life. That was... good."

Sherlock suddenly looked back at John, the moment John did the same, with the same intensity. "John..."

"Please John, fetch me some honey from the kitchen" Sherlock whispered, slowly and sweetly.

"Erm... ok..." John managed to stutter. He wandered into the kitchen, grasped a jar of honey (the one that wasn't full of fingers) brought it back and plonked it gracefully on the table.

Sherlock unscrewed the lid, before slowly, almost sultrily, dipping two fingers in the golden liquid. John watched in awe as Sherlock swirled the mixture around, before drawing out a long, golden string of honey and proceeding to run it elegantly over his cupid's bow.

He then not-quite-so-elegantly tipped the jar upside down over John's head, before watching as the golden, sticky mess dribbled all over his hair.

John gave a surprised yelp, jumping up and tripping over two cats in his surprise. As he dropped onto the ground, amid a swarm of cats, several took advantage of the moment to lap up the sticky mixture.

"Sherlock!" John shrieked angrily, as he shakily got to his feet. He gave a howl of horror as he realized he now had at least three cats stuck to his hair.

"Sherlock! Get them off me!" John cried, grabbing at the trapped felines and trying to wrench them off.

"Hang on, John!" Sherlock cried, before he rushed out of the room, emerging from the kitchen a moment later with a pair of scissors.

"What!? No, you are not cutting my hair! Just get them off!" John exclaimed.

"John," Sherlock said grimly, "this is the only way..."

The blonde, well, 'not blonde for much longer', shot Sherlock a very threatening glare. But then sighed and nodded. The cats bobbed up and down with his hair, and frantically clawed at the only thing in reach, which just happened to be John's face.

"Arrghhh!" he yelled, "Sherlock, I don't even care what you do, just get these bloody cats off of me!"

Sherlock took a quick step forward, and in one swift snip, managed to cut all of the cats off. Unfortunately this now meant that John was half bald and still covered with the sticky honey, cat hair combo.

Mind you, Sherlock was still mostly naked at this point, his lips now smothered with honey.

"Oh, John, you really should take a bath," Sherlock said earnestly.

"I have just been assaulted by cats, twice, gotten half my hair shaven off, and now am covered in honey! This is NOT the time for a bath."

"I really think you should... It would solve the current honey dilemma, and you might want to clean some of that blood of your face... Yes, it is decided. John, you are taking a bath." Before John could further argue, Sherlock, again swept him up in his arms, and with incredible speed and agility, leaped over all the cats, and sprinted to the bathroom, then plunked John, as he was, into the bath.

"Sherlock!" John protested.

He quickly turned the tap on, and the tub began to pool with water. John now, very confused and frustrated, lay in the bathtub, covered in blood, cat hair, and honey, and was beginning to soak with water.

John sighed as the steaming water swirled around him. It was strange though, he'd never had a bath fully clothed before, but he wasn't complaining, considering Sherlock looming over him, adjusting the taps and such. He watched as Sherlock opened a bottle of shampoo and began to idly wash his body.

John wasn't entirely sure if this is what 'friends' did, but considering it was all Sherlock's fault in the first place, he was more inclined to have the man treat his injured pride rather than fix himself up.

He ran a hand through his hair. It was shorter than it had ever been in the army. Combined with the scratches, he was going to be a laughing stock the next time he left the house. Sighing, he felt against Sherlock as he continued his administrations.

Sherlock dabbed at the cuts left by the struggling felines, before going over to the medicine cabinet and rattling through for a cut disinfectant.

"Can toothpaste do anything for cuts?"

"No Sherlock."

"Lipstick?"'

"Why on earth do you have lipstick in the bathroom cabinet?"

"How about iodine?"

"Perfect."

Sherlock returned to John's side, before treating his cuts with the iodine. John sullenly watched the look of sheer concentration on Sherlock's features, before a cat suddenly skirted into the bathroom, spun on the wet tiles and jumped into the bath.

"SHERLOCK! GET THIS BLOODY HAIRBALL OUT OF THE BATH OR I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL..."

Sherlock hurriedly shooed the unfortunate kitty out of the bathroom (which wasn't easy when the poor thing was struggling and John was shouting), before turning back to John.

He was shocked to find the man with his head buried in his hands and weeping.

"John?" Sherlock asked nervously "what's wrong?"

"It's... m-my...my hair Sherlock!" John wept angrily.

"I used to be so beautiful!" he wailed. John was increasing becoming out of character, and suddenly Sherlock realised that he himself had been OOC this entire time. Strange... He chose to embrace it, no point in muddling over such things when John was in this state.

"Oh, John, not a worry. I have the solution!" Sherlock said triumphantly.

John sniffled and looked up at him, messily wiping his nose with his arm. "You do?"

"Yes, now if could just find it..." Sherlock muttered, searching through the medicinal cabinet, over the sink. Then his hand closed around a purple flask. "Aha!" He pulled it out, and shoved it in John's face. "Grime and grow!"

"What?"

"Well, you lather yourself in this, and your hair grows back, well, wherever you place it," Sherlock explained, uncapping the bottle. Before John could say any more, Sherlock, similarly to the honey, poured it onto John's scalp. He for a moment was worried that the liquid would run down his body, and make him into a fury monster, but it seemed that upon contact the potion was soaked into his skin, unable to quickly spread.

"It should only take a few moments to take maximum effect."

"Sherlock, is this going to have any serious side effects?" John asked as Sherlock stepped back from the bathtub.

Sherlock didn't answer, and John suddenly a strange sensation in his scalp.

"Sherlock?!" he asked nervously, what's going on...?"

Before he could say anything else, a new head on full, thick, blonde hair suddenly sprouted onto his scalp.

"Sherlock!" John gasped in amazement "you've done it!"

He jumped out of the tub, looking delighted. But Sherlock didn't share his reaction of joy.

"Sherlock...?" John inquired.

He looked over his shoulder, and noticed that his blonde hair was still growing.

"Sherlock, WHAT THE ACTUAL FU..."

Sherlock sucked his breath in "I may have overdone it a bit on the solution..."

"Sherlock, just stop it from growing!" John shouted, noting that his hair had now fallen to his waist.

"That is a fantastic idea John, however, it may be impossible, seeing as I don't currently know how to retract the solution..."

He didn't get to finish his sentence, because John had just floored him and was strangling him within an inch of his life.

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU PRICK!"

"LANGUAGE JOHN! THE MIGHT BE CHILDREN READING!"

"DON'T YOU START PREACHING TO ME YOU LITTLE F-"

Sherlock finally managed to wrench John off of him, before catching his breath. John's hair was now beginning to tumble around the bathroom, and the man it was attached to, was looking absolutely horrified and furious.

"Alright!" Sherlock announced, "There will be a solution to this problem. However, I recommend that you don't leave the flat until I've discovered exactly what that solution is.

John sighed in defeat and pushed past Sherlock, his long, blonde hair tumbling behind him.

"SHERLOCK! THERE ARE CATS TANGLED IN MY HAIR!"

Sherlock raced into the room, and found John, with at least fifty cats tangled in his tresses.

"Can't you just cut it?" John shrieked furiously.

"John, the nature of the solution implies that it is a re-growth solution. If I cut it, it'll just keep growing, and growing, and grow..."

John fell on the sofa, before sticking a pillow over his head and blocking out Sherlock's groveling.

Sherlock sighed, before stepping over the increasingly large river of John's blonde hair, before opening up his laptop and looking for a solution.

}***{

"Sherlock, what are you looking at?"

"Fan fiction, John."

"Okay... why?"

"There is an author on here," he glanced at the screen "Imaginethat27. They've written stories on this subject... although they've written us both as quite the feminine sorts..."

Sherlock ducked as a steaming mug of tea was thrown at his head.

"Sherlock, get off that giggly teenager's fanfiction account and start finding a solution!"

Sherlock sighed, before snapping the laptop shut and going over to his shelves to try and find a solution to this problem.

But not before he quickly bookmarked another author 'ArthurDent2'.

Sherlock paced the flat for a few minutes, John anxiously waiting and gathering his still rapidly growing hair. Then Sherlock let out a cry of delight, and jumped excitedly. He gathered up some chemical solution off his desk, then muddling around looking for more things. Once he'd found everything he wanted, which apparently consisted of several different unknown (to John) substances from his lab table, medicinal cabinet and kitchen, he measured them carefully and mixed them together in a large pot. He then scooped a small cup of the clear, blue tinted liquid and handed it to John with a satisfied grin. "The cure, I am sure of it."

John gave him an unsure look, but then said, "Oh hell," and snatched it from his hands, swigging it down in one go. It tasted bitterly sweet and oddly familiar.

Nothing changed, John's hair continued to grow. John raised his eyebrows and Sherlock swore under his breath. "There was a chance that this would happen. By 'that' I mean nothing, of course," Sherlock muttered.

"Sherlock what did I just drink?"

"Oh, just a random mixture of lemon juice, sugar, salt, potassium, water, cough syrup and a pinch of head ache medicine," he said dismissively.

"What? How would that help in any way? And what do you bloody mean by _random_?"

"Placebo effect. I was hoping there would be some kind of placebo effect. I was playing the 'I-know-exactly-what-I'm-doing-and-this-will-defin itely-work-trust-me-John' act very well, I thought."

"Well it very well didn't work! Now what are we supposed to do?!"

"Dance?" Sherlock guessed.

"No! Dancing is not the solution! It bloody well isn't the time for dancing, Sherlock!"

"Oh! Oh, oh, oh!" Sherlock exclaimed suddenly, smacking his forehead. He turned to John again, excitement in his eyes. "But don't you see John? Now is EXACTLY the time for dancing!"

"Sherlock, what are you talking about?" John groaned.

"No, really! Dancing will provide the exact right combination of simulates, exercise, endorphins, dopamine, adrenaline and funky fun time that could stop your hair growth!"

"What? How does that possibly work?"

"IT'S SCIENCE JOHN, DON'T QUESTION IT. NOW DANCE. DANCE LIKE THE BEAUTIFUL BALLERINA YOU WERE BORN TO BE!"

"Oh, for god's sakes."

"THAT'S BRILLIANT JOHN! ALLOW THE SPLENDID GRACE OF YOUR FEATURES TO COMPILE WITH YOUR MOVEMENTS!"

John twirled and leapt, wondering again and again how he could have gone from cats to twirling-around-with-long-blonde-hair.

He suddenly tripped over some of his hair, and tumbled to the floor, banging his shin on the coffee table.

"It's not working Sherlock!" he cried, "My hair's still growing!"

Before Sherlock could answer, they suddenly heard a clattering up the stairs, and Mrs. Hudson burst in, looking particularly disheveled.

"Sherlock! There's long, blonde hair all over my kitchen floor...!" She stopped dead and stared when she noticed John, sitting in the middle of the floor and surrounded by masses of blonde hair.

"Sherlock?! What have you done to John?"

"Merely a solution Mrs. Hudson. With a little bit of luck, the inevitable solution to this scary problem should come to me soon." He smiled. "Or should I say, HAIRY problem-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, because John punched him in the face.

"Mrs. Hudson," John sighed tiredly "please, please, please will you just cut all of this hair off of my head?"

"Of course dearie!" she smiled, before picking up the scissors, which had started the whole charade. "Turn around."

"John, I warn you, it's not going to work." Sherlock sighed.

John ignored him, as Mrs. Hudson swiftly scissored the golden tresses, and they fell from John's head.

"Ha!" John cried, relieved at the sudden ability to freely move his scalp, "How do you like that? See, I told you it would- fucking hell!"

Surely enough, as per Sherlock's predictions, John's blonde locks suddenly started to grow again.

"Sherlock, you were right!" John cried in anguish.

"Of course I was right. I'm always right."

"Shut up!"

"It'll probably grow twice as fast now..."

As the whole predicament was playing out, the door to 221B suddenly opened, and Detective Inspector Lestrade wandered in.

"Sherlock, I've got a triple mur- Bloody hell, what is going on?" the DI exclaimed in surprise at seeing the scene unfolding before him.

"Uh... We can explain," John said awkwardly.

"John, we do not have time for this! You're hair! Look it's growing twice as fast as before, as I said it would!"

John and Sherlock began to bicker back and forth.

"This is your fault! You were the one who put that damn stuff on me!"

"I wouldn't have had to if you weren't crying!"

"I wouldn't have been if you hadn't cut my bloody hair out!"

"Yes, well I wouldn't have had to do that if you hadn't gotten cat's in your hair!"

"You were the one who poured honey on me!"

"You were the one who got the honey!"

"Because you asked!"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Lestrade said suddenly, catching both of their attention, while Mrs. Hudson just squealed nervously and left, shaking her head. "What did you put on your head?"

"He was the one tha-" they both started to say (strangely at the exact same time).

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Doesn't matter, just tell me what it was," Lestrade interrupted.

"Well, I believe it was called 'Grime and Grow'," Sherlock replied, collecting himself (John still struggling with his rapidly growing golden locks and the cats currently getting caught in them).

"Oh, yeah, what you need is true love's kiss," Lestrade said matter-of-factly.

"What?" John exclaimed, "How would you know that?"

"Well, it worked for Rapunzel, didn't it?"

"I don't believe that's how the story goes..." Sherlock began.

"It doesn't matter anyways, it's not like I'm going to find my true love suddenly," John sighed.

"What? No! That's easy," Lestrade waved him off, "All you need is a love detector. Luckily I have one right here!" He pulled a strange looking, little meter like device from the depths of his DI trench coat. It immediately began to beep incessantly.

"What the hell?" He began to hit it, trying to get it to work properly, but it did not stop. "Woah, there is some high levels of love up in here."

He pointed the strange, bleeping device at Sherlock and John.

"You can practically smell the True Love in the room!" Lestrade cried happily.

Sherlock and John stared deeply into each other's eyes.

"Sherlock... do you love me?" John asked quietly.

Sherlock gently ran a hand through John's golden locks "more than life itself. You are my everything, John Watson..." he smiled, amping up the OOC state in the room.

John gently entwined his hands with Sherlock's, before leaning in and softly kissing his lips. Sherlock responded with a deeper and more luscious kiss. Lestrade stood back as the love detector exploded from hyperactive overuse.

As the pair pulled apart, they anxiously checked John's hair. John frowned as he saw the long locks continue to grow.

"Lestrade. IT'S NOT FUCKING WORKING" John gritted his teeth in annoyance.

"I told you the story didn't go like that," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

'Sorry..." Lestrade blushed sheepishly.

"Well, what do you recommend now?" John asked desperately.

Lestrade and Sherlock exchanged glances.

"Well, it would be unsafe for you to remain here. Your hair will be spilling out into the street in a minute," Sherlock pointed out, "so I think it would be best if we were to remove you from the premises and lock you away in a tower until I can think of a solution to this problem."

"Great id... WHAT?!" John choked furiously on his words.

"An excellent solution, Sherlock," Lestrade smiled, "Thankfully, there is a conveniently secluded tower just outside of London."

"You know, Lestrade, if I didn't know any better, I would say that this was perfectly written to the typical, story like mode."

"It was like it was meant be."

'EXCUSE ME?" John asked furiously "DON'T I GET A SAY IN THIS?"

But before he could protest, Sherlock and Lestrade picked him up and led him down the stairs.

"No- NO! I did not agree to this!" John yelled.

"I'm sorry John... I'm doing this because I LOVE YOU!" Sherlock cried.

John continued to furiously protest as Lestrade carted him off down the street, with Sherlock following behind and keeping an eye on his golden locks, just to ensure that they didn't become tangled in inanimate, or even worse, animate objects.

Eventually, they came to the bottom of a large, stone tower.

"What the actual sodding-" John began to swear, but Lestrade and Sherlock opened the door, before leading him up the stairs.

When they reached a room at the top, it took nearly six minutes before all of John's hair was safely in with them.

"Alright, my beloved," Sherlock grinned, "you must simply remain here, just until I've come up with a solution to this scary problem. Or should I say, HAIR-"

He ducked as John swung a fist at his nose.

"Lestrade and I will visit every day. You'll be provided for. I'll bring you food, there's central heating," Sherlock grinned blissfully, "Who needs the outdoors?"

"Sherlock, I am NOT one of those tumblr users."

"Anyway, I'll rescue you from your predicament soon!" Sherlock reminded, before bounding down the stairs, followed closely by an apologetic Lestrade.

}***{

John, at first, hated the tower. It was so boring; incredibly dull with nothing to do, and he hardly saw Sherlock, only once every few days for food supplies and such. Sometimes it wasn't even Sherlock, it was Lestrade instead. He said it was because Sherlock was so desperately busy, trying to find the antidote, and all, for his hair growth.

Yes, speaking of John's hair growth. It had slowed down since the cutting; back to it's originally pace (approximately 2 inches of hair per minute). It was still inexplicably fast, but it was a relief to find it slower. John's hair was now several hundred feet long. It had been three weeks since he was locked in the tower.

Anyway, back to what I was saying, John did not like the tower. He refused to enjoy it, but after three days of pouting, he decided to get over himself. He actually quite admired the tower. Sherlock knew he would too. It was a very nice tower: he had to admit. It was cobblestone, but not cold, there were curtains and cloth draped all around the rooms that gave it a very cozy feel.

On the sixth day of waiting for the cure, John finally brought himself to go to the small selected library. It only had around twelve books or so, but John noticed that they were all his favourites. Must have been Sherlock's doing.

John then, previously only eating bread and cold take out Thai, decided that he needed proper food. That's when he finally brought himself to examine the kitchen. The refrigerator was, to his surprise, completely stocked with milk. 'Awww, Sherlock!' he thought, but then he remembered that it was Sherlock's fault he was here, no matter how much he loved him, and went back to being very, very cross. He angrily baked for the rest of the day. (That is when John discovered his love of soufflé.)

It was John's seventeenth day of being stuck in his tower, the first time his visitor came. He was making a soufflé when it happened actually, but that is beside the point. This is the point: as John did whatever he was doing, making a soufflé or not, he suddenly heard a very peculiar noise, one that he did not normally hear, not since he was stuck in his tower. This noise was that of a very singsong, strangely familiar male voice calling, "Hooooney, I'm hooome!"

John's head snapped up. Anxiously stepping over his hair and towards the window, he peered down to find an unwelcome face far below.

"Helloooo Johnny-boy!" Moriarty smiled, his teeth flashing a pearly white.

John stared down at the consulting criminal. "Moriarty... hang on! Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

Moriarty threw back his head and laughed, before composing himself. "Oh Johnny-boy, you are funny!"

John decided not to push the point. Clearly, he was staring at the face of a madman. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard Sherlock locked you up here," Moriarty grinned sweetly, "Something to do with your hair growing to incredibly lengths. I thought I'd come along and give you some company."

John sighed, wondering how it was possible for him to be graced with such unfortunate bad luck.

"Moriarty, don't you have somewhere better to be? Killing children or something?"

Moriarty's face fell, and he sniffed like a dejected child. "Please, Johnny-boy? Can't I come up and talk to you? Sherlock doesn't want to play my games with me today..."

John sighed. He didn't want the insane mastermind up in his tower, but he was, admittedly, lonely. He wanted something else to do other than make soufflés and trip over his own hair.

"Fine," John sighed, against his better judgment.

Moriarty grinned, all traces of his sadness gone. "Brilliant! Hang on a tick."

Moriarty ran around the side of the tower, before reappearing at John's window a few moments later.

"John, the door's locked!" he whined, in a particularly fantastic Irish lit.

John remembered, "Sherlock locked it, to contain all of my hair." He stared down at the pooling, golden tresses.

Moriarty grinned, all smiles again. "That's alright! Just throw some of your hair down, and I'll climb up to you!"

"Excuse me?" John asked in confusion, wondering if he's heard correctly.

"Just let down your hair!" Moriarty grinned, "Come on John! I'm boooored!"

"What? No! Not my hair!"

"Rapunzel, Rapuzel, let down your hair!" Moriarty sang.

"I am not going to do that! This is my hair we are talking about! Firstly, I'm sure your shoes will get it dirty or something. Secondly, I don't fancy you pulling my hair with all your body weight! It would bloody well hurt! Those Rapunzel stories really ignore some key facts!"

"Oh, really, Johnny, stop being such a whiney baby and let down your hair!" Moriarty complained.

"Can't you use a ladder or something? I mean, if _someone_ has connections to get a ladder, it's you," John reasoned.

"Yes," he said slowly, "I suppose I could get a ladder... but that wouldn't be as much fun!"

"Oh for god's sakes, for the last time I am not bloo-" Then John suddenly noticed the red dot on his jumper. He sighed. "Fine. The hair is coming your way."

Moriarty practically cried out with glee, jumping up and clapping his hands together. "Oh goodie! I'm glad dear Sebby could get you to your senses!"

John gathered up as much hair as he could carry in his two arms and unceremoniously threw it down to Moriarty. "There."

"Oh, Johnny-boy!" Moriarty grinned ecstatically, his smile so wide that John was worried his face would split in two, "this is the nicest thing ANYONE'S ever done for me!"

John rolled his eyes. "Terrific, now, would you like to climb up, and we can-"

"It's just so KIND of you Johnny-boy!" Moriarty stroked John's blonde locks, shivering with delight. "It's just wonderful!"

"Yes, alright!" John interrupted, "Just climb up and get it over with!"

Moriarty grinned with pride, before grasping John's golden locks and giving a sharp tug.

"OW!" John cried as Moriarty grasped his hair, before beginning to haul himself up.

"Don't struggle, Johnny-boy!" Moriarty grinned, giving another insistent tug.

"STOP CALLING ME JOHNNY-BOY!" John called from his window, where he was insistently struggling with his long locks and the pressure Moriarty was putting on them.

"No need to be rude, dear!" Moriarty answered, seemingly grasping John's hair harder.

John swore, struggled and sweated, heaved and hoed. But finally, he managed to drag Moriarty through his tower window.

With a pop, the genius flew into the chamber, before landing amid one of many piles of John's tresses.

Moriarty immediately jumped up and dusted himself off, while John still lay on his back, from being toppled over, and tried to recover from the pain in his scalp. Moriarty strolled around the room, examining everything around him.

"Oh, John, this IS a lovely place!" Moriarty claimed excitedly. "It's so... cozy."

John pushed himself up to see that Moriarty had found the kitchen, and was looking through the cabinets muttering, "Boring, boring boring," under his breath. When he opened the refrigerator though, he gave a cry of delight, "Ohhh, miiiilk. Sherlock does like to keep you well stocked, doesn't he, pet?"

John stood, straightening his hair. "Don't call me _pet_."

"Oh, but that's exactly what you are, isn't it? Sherlock's little pet, and now he's got him all cooped up because of a little problem. He can't deal with you anymore, so he puts you away, but your still, oh so, loyal to him, aren't you, pet?"

"Sherlock would never-" John began.

"Oh, just wouldn't he? Look around, pet, he's got you tucked away, all nice, far enough away from him. When's the last time he visited you? Hm? A few hours? A few days? A few weeks?"

"As a matter of fact, he visited me yesterday," John stated triumphantly.

"Oh, did he? Wasn't for very long, was it though? A few minutes, at the MOST. He doesn't have time for you, pet. He's just weaning you off, you've gotten too clingy!" he practically giggled.

"Get out! Just- just, get out! I don't know what I was thinking, letting a madman like you in!"

"Oh, Johnny! Don't spoil the fun! I'm just so mean sometimes, aren't I?"

"Just stop talking about Sherlock like that will you?" John demanded.

"Oh, interesting... See how I've been teasing YOU about how YOU mean nothing to him. Yet instead of defending yourself, you still defend him instead."

"It's, uh, I just," John began, weakly.

"OH! I SEE! Oh, Johnny, oh pet, pet, pet, this is PRECIOUS! Oh, this is just making me so giddy! You, pet, you love him! Oh, and he's said it too hasn't he? Oh, he is suuuuch a tease isn't he? Giving you hope like that, just to lock you up! That way you don't question it! You just go along with your silly like _hope_!" Moriarty was almost beside himself with giddiness, almost prancing around John. This was just _too_ good!

John blushed and looked at the floor, partly with furious annoyance from Moriarty's insistent comments, but mostly with embarrassment.

"Sherlock loves me..." John began to protest, but was interrupted by a hoot of laughter from Moriarty.

"LOVES you? Oh, my pet, this is just too MUCH!" Moriarty giggled madly "The Great Sherlock Holmes... I always thought he was INCAPABLE of love. Oh, he's a right old tease isn't he?"

"Stop it!" John felt his cheeks grow hot.

It wasn't true. None of this could be true. Moriarty was just being his usual, maniacal self, wasn't he...?

"Ah, pet, you're trying to work out if I'm telling you the truth or not?" Moriarty grinned madly.

John tried to ignore him, instead focusing on the window.

"Listen, Johnny-boy, I'll tell you the truth. YOU'RE GOING TO LOVE IT!" Moriarty shrieked with happiness.

John jumped from fright, but then straightened himself.

"Johnny-boy, Sherlock Holmes is BORED with you." Moriarty smiled manically. "You didn't really think a pretty little bland object like yourself would hold his attention for long, did you?"

John shook his head in frustration. "He- he wants me..."

"No, he doesn't." Moriarty sighed happily, "He's an emotionless man, John. You are a clingy, sentimental man. Sherlock doesn't want to play with you anymore, so he's got you locked up here in retaliation. He'll provide for you, of course he will, but at the end of the day it'll just be an emotionless bliss..."

Moriarty smiled sickly sweetly. "Isn't life WONERFUL?"

John shook his head. "I don't believe a word."

"Fine!" Moriarty grinned, "Be OOC and in denial! But confront Sherlock next time he visits you my pet. Mark my words, he'll tell you exactly what I've told you here."

"I am _not_ OOC," John protested furiously.

"Whatever!" Moriarty yawned, before chucking some of John's hair back down to the ground, "Well, I'd better be off. See you tomorrow Johnny-boy!"

"Tomorrow?" John griped.

"Duh!" Moriarty smirked, "You're so much more entertaining than old Sherlock!"

"What if I refuse to let my hair down?" John asked smugly.

Several red dots appeared on his shirt.

John sighed in defeat.

"Fine. Tomorrow."

Moriarty beamed as he slid down John's hair. "Tomorrow, my pet!"

Because, oh yes, Johnny would be Jim's little pet from now on. He never understood why Sherlock kept him around until now. Sure he had Seb, but Sebby wasn't exactly _that_ kind of fun to play with. John was so emotional, got so worked up, loved Sherlock so much. This was going to be FUN.

}***{

As promised, Moriarty returned the next day, and John, not wanting to find out if the red dots were more than laser pointers, let his hair down with little complaint. Moriarty was less harsh on the climbing technic today, lightly and quickly scaling the tower, and gracefully jumping in through the window, with less than a wrinkle anywhere on his Westwood suit.

"Hello, pet," he practically purred.

"Yeah, yeah, hello. Stop calling me pet, will you?" John said, trying to sound as indifferent as possible, sitting back down in his armchair, grabbing his copy of 'The Catcher In The Rye'.

"Oh, but you don't reeeally want me to stop do you, pet? I think you kind of like it now."

"Well, think you are a madman with psychotic tendencies, no scratch that, just a plain old, run of the mill, psychopath."

"Oh, we both know that I am anything but 'run of the mill'. Really, pet, you can do better than that."

John only scoffs in response, setting the book on his lap, beginning to read.

"Oi, that isn't very polite is it? Reading with a guest? What kind of host are you?" Moriarty teased.

"A very forced one, that is," John muttered.

"Johnny, I'm boooored."

"Then pick up a book." He gestured to the small pile of books next to him. Jim considered for a moment, before shrugging and picking up a random copy of 'Casino Royal'. This actually surprised John. He didn't actually expect Moriarty to just pick up a book like he'd said.

They spent the next twenty minutes like that, just reading silently. That's when there was a sudden rustling bellow, and a voice called up, "John, I'm back. I've brought you some more-" the previously locked door swung open and Sherlock immediately caught Moriarty's eye.

"Moriarty."

"Sherlock."

Sherlock turned expectantly back to John, giving him the, oh so rare, 'what-the-hell-is-going-on-because-for-once-the-mi ghty-sherlock-holmes-doesn't-know-i-said-it-alrigh t-just-tell-me-before-i-have-to-admit-it-out-loud- just-tell-me-what-is-going-on-or-god-help-me-john' look.

"I'm just popping by, I hope you don't mind. Oh! I should have probably mentioned earlier: I'm not dead! Isn't that exciting? But you've already guessed that a while ago, haven't you, you clever boy? Anyway, I actually should be going now," Moriarty said conversationally, "Until next time, Sherlock, dear. Goodbye, pet." And with that he simply jumped out of the window.

"John?" Sherlock demanded.

John glanced out of the window for a moment, watching as Moriarty raced away, carted on Sebastian's back and declaring in an excited Irish thrill, "Faster, Sebby! Let's play cops and robbers! Do want to come back here tomorrow?"

John turned back to Sherlock. "Sherlock, I can explain..."

Sherlock dropped the goods he had brought furiously on the cabinet, before he began aggressively putting the items away.

"Why was he here John?" Sherlock demanded.

"What? Sherlock, he came up here and started badmouthing you!" John protested, "That was all!"

Sherlock stuffed the food away. "Yet, if I recall, the door was locked."

John blushed. "Erm... well her sort of... climbed up my hair."

John noticed how red Sherlock's face was getting.

"Sherlock?"

"So, is he the one who's granted privileges then?" Sherlock demanded, "Is he the one who get's such thrills?"

"Wha- Sherlock!" John shouted angrily, "He was coming in here and annoying me! Nothing else happened!" John shuddered at the thought of Sherlock's implications.

"John, that man is a psychopath!" Sherlock spun around and yelled furiously, "He'll only play with your mind, it was dangerous to even let him in! Can't you see what's going on?"

John buried his face in his hands in frustration. "Yeah, well... you're only coming to see me because you've got nothing better to do!"

"What?" Sherlock exclaimed in shock, "John, that is an absolute accusation!"

John felt rage inside him. The same kind he had felt when Sherlock had first revealed himself after three years.

"Yes, but it's the truth, isn't it Sherlock?" he yelled, "I'm just here as your little experiment, aren't I?"

Sherlock's face was bright red with frustration.

"Are you accusing me of locking you away as a mere entertainment?" Sherlock asked furiously.

John hesitated, noticing the fury on Sherlock's face, but then nodded.

"Yes."

Sherlock was silent, his face slowly returning to its normal colour.

"Fine. If you don't want to be an entertainment, then I'll simply stop coming. Moriarty can take care of you!"

"Sherlock..."

Sherlock ignored him, before maneuvering his way over all of John's hair, going to fling the door open.

"Sherlock, you're being completely ridiculous!"

Sherlock still ignored him. He thrust the door open, before heading out, slamming it and locking it behind himself.

John stared after him, and then pulling his own hair in frustration, he flopped down against the windowsill. He watched Sherlock storm off with a sociopathic pride, before he turned away and awaited Moriarty's (how could he even bear that?) arrival.

}**{

Moriarty came again the next day, as he said he would, again. John assumed he must have known, or guessed about his and Sherlock's fight the night before, because he came bearing food. Grapes, to be specific. How he knew about John's secret love of grapes, John did not know. It was just something about the little oval- no, that is beside the point. The point is that John was utterly conflicted and confused. What the hell had happened to his life in the past few weeks? Earlier his life was perfectly normal, well by his and Sherlock's standards, and then one day Sherlock goes all OOC and his house is full of cats, and now ever since, his life has been like... like, well, if it was fan fiction. Some weird ass fan fiction at that. But of course this was REAL life, so he should just get over it... John, from then on, never thought these thoughts again: these very, very dangerous thoughts. Even now, he does not remember thinking them, for he cannot...

Any who, back to John sitting at his window, awaiting Moriarty's return, feeling very, very confused and possibly in denial, which of course he denies whenever you mention it. He loved Sherlock still, of course, it's not like something he can turn on and off, but Moriarty did plant some doubts in his mind... and then he felt guilty because he knows that Moriarty is just messing with him, right? Or is he? Moriarty was a jerk and not very pleasant towards him (that is much too soft-core, he is much more of a maniac with homicidal tendencies, really), but he was oddly alluring, very similar yet very different from the way Sherlock was. He screamed genius, but also socio- hell, psychopathic and danger, and even though he belittled you, you still wanted more. The way he felt for the both were still VERY different though, Moriarty was only alluring, to him, mentally, otherwise his slyness and flirtation interested him very little. He still couldn't help but be disgusted by him, for all the things he had done, but he was still letting him up into his tower. Why? Well, the snipers for one thing, but he still felt himself compelled to let him join him. Ugh, it was just all so confusing! ALHSGAOKNAFD! This is basically what was running through John's head as he watched Moriarty approach, from his high perch.

"Oh, hello, pet!" Moriarty sang when John came into view.

John said nothing, just nodded. Moriarty quickly reached the bottom of the tower.

"Aren't you going to let down your hair?" he pouted.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm doing it," John grumbled as he saw the ret dots swarm his chest.

"Oh, no! Is my pet a little grumpy form last night? You two have a bit of a lovers' spat? Or are you just aching for a belly rub?" he purred.

"Oi! None of that," John interjected, throwing down his hair.

"You're no fun!" he frowned, but soon his face turned back to his usual mischievous grin, "I'll be soon to change that."

"You'll try," John muttered under his breath.

"What was that, pet?"

"Nothing."

Moriarty swiftly made it to the window. It seemed as though his temper that day would impact on his ability to swiftly climb John's hair.

On bad days, he would pull and strain, leaving John feeling worse for wear. But today, his touch was light...

Moriarty reached the window and clambered through, before grinning madly at John.

"How did your little argument play out then, my pet?" Moriarty asked slyly.

John ignored him, instead choosing to concentrate on drawing up his hair.

"Pet?" Moriarty repeated, "Come along, Johnny-boy, tell me what happened."

John sighed, knowing that he would never get the psychopathic idiot off his back unless he told the story straight.

"Sherlock and I had an argument," John said matter-of-factly, before reaching for a copy of 'the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.'

"Oh pet!" Moriarty simpered, still with the same maniacal grin on his face. "Does he not love you anymore then?"

John froze. "Wha... of course Sherlock still loves me!"

Moriarty laughed. "Are you sure, cupcake?" Moriarty grinned, "That's a new one, 'cupcake', remind me to write that down..."

John stood up and faced him square on. "Sherlock loves me."

Moriarty shrugged. "If you say so, pet..."

"STOP CALLING ME PET!"

Moriarty giggled, "I DO love it when you get worked up, Johnny-boy."

"Just sit down and read," John grumbled.

"Again?" Moriarty complained, "Oh, lets not be so dull, I don't want to read _every_ day. Let us do something actually interesting!"

"What? Reading is interesting!" John retaliated.

"Not as interesting as murder."

"Wait, what? NO. No, no, no, murder will not be happening here. Not on my watch!"

"If you say so," he shrugged, and then held up, with a mischievous smile, what John realised was his wristwatch. He automatically looked down to his arm and realised that his wrist was bare.

"Oh, ha, ha, very clever, Moriarty. I get it, okay? Now just give me my watch back, and no murder, okay?"

"That's no fun!"

"NO MURDER."

"Herumph." He plopped down into the armchair he'd picked yesterday and picked up the book. John smiled and took his seat in return, opening his book, but Moriarty, instead of in turn opening his, suddenly threw it across the room.

"Johnny, I'm bored!"

"For god's sakes that was my only copy! It was signed!"

"Oh, who caaaares about some stupid signature. It's just some person, who you've randomly deemed as more important, scribbling on paper. What's so great about that? Anyways, it wasn't such a great book. Spy books are always predictable, as well as mystery, and fantasy even, and- OH, YOU ALL ARE JUST SO PREDICTABLE. YOU'RE ALL THE SAME. YOU'RE ALL INFERIOR AND BOOORING."

"Alright, alright, calm down, you big baby. No need to have a tantrum."

"I do not have tantrums," Moriarty cried, jumping up and stamping his foot, which really wasn't helping his case at all.

"Yes you do, and you are. Now sit down. You don't have to read, tell me a story or something. I'll just be over there making tea. Okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Okay," Moriarty agreed, slumping back down on the chair.

"What story should I tell?" Moriarty asked quietly from his post.

"I don't know. Tell me whatever story you want."

Moriarty thought for a moment.

"Alright, I've got one!" he cried happily.

"Alright, shoot... METAPHORICALLY."

Moriarty sighed and directed the laser pointers away from John's torso.

"This is the story of Sir Boast-a-lot, and the Doctor in the Tower."

John's head snapped up from his tea making post. Cold water splashed everywhere.

"Once upon a time, there was a brave and big-headed knight called Sir Boast-a-lot," Moriarty began, "And he fell in love with a beautiful doctor, because maidens are so BORING, who was locked up in a tower."

John felt his fists clench.

He remembered Sir Boast-a-lot. Sherlock had told him the story after he had returned. The night in the cab...

"And the Doctor liked Sir Boast-a-lot very much, because he was BORING and he didn't know any better. So Sir Boast-a-lot came to visit him every day... But one day, when Sir Boast-a-lot went to visit the Doctor, he found him with someone else. A wizard, to be precise."

John tried to imagine what Sherlock must have gone through. To hear the difficult lies, the untruths, all projected in that same Irish lit...

"And Sir Boast-a-lot was very jealous of the wizard. So he left, and decided never to return..."

"STOP!" John spun around, his face scarlet with anger, "Just shut up!"

Moriarty was taken aback, but then he burst out laughing.

"Oh, Johnny-boy, you take everything so seriously!" he giggled, "Don't you want to hear how the story ends? Don't you want to hear about the Final Problem?!"

"What the hell are you talking about, Moriarty?" John asked, anger not fading.

"Oh, little Johnny-boy doesn't know! Pet, doesn't knooow, pet doesn't knoooow!" he teased.

"Just spit it out!"

"Well, pet, my dearest pet, THIS is the final problem-" Moriarty began.

But just then Sherlock burst in. "JOHN! John! Don't listen to him! He's messing with you! We have to get out of here now!"

"Oooooh, look it's SHERLY! Quite dramatic, you can be, but this is MY show, and right now I AM THE ONE IN CHARGE." Sherlock was about to argue, but then he saw some of the red dots spread to his chest too. "NO ONE IS GOING ANYWHERE."

"Now, I believe I was in the middle of a story! Where was I? Oh yes, Sir. Boast-a-lot just left, but it seems that he's _just_ changed his mind! He can be so fickle, can't you, dearie? Oh, but do you want to here what happens now? Well, Sir. Boast-a-lot and his precious little _doctor_ where just about to SIT DOWN." Sherlock and John immediately sat down. "Then, the wizard took out his magic wand," he began, taking out his previously concealed gun, "and he put it to the precious doctor's head, because now, now we are all going to listen to the final problem. You, my pet, my little pet, YOU are the final problem!"

"What?" John spluttered, but Moriarty just roughly nudged his head with the butt of his gun, effectively shutting him up.

"Yes, Johnny, you are the final problem. You were fun, fun to play with, fun to watch dance around, but now all that fun is over, because now you are JUST IN MY WAY. Sherlock is getting too attached; even your little arguments are doing anything to deter him. I needed you apart! That is why I paid that man to give Sherlock all those cats! It was because I knew EXACTLY how this would play out, all like a map in my head. You, John, are making Sherlock boring. He is soooo domestic now, so ORDINARY. AND IT IS YOUR FAULT, _DOCTOR._ THAT IS WHY THE WIZARD IS GOING TO TAKE HIS MAGIC WAND AND-"

Moriarty never go to finish his sentence, because just then, Anderson (yes, Anderson) burst through the window.

"Stop!" he yelled.

Moriarty turned, not taking the gun from John's head, to look at the intruder in surprise. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

"Anderson, what the bloody hell are _you _doing here?" John inquired.

"Oh, for god's sakes," Sherlock groaned.

"Everyone stop what you are doing!" Anderson cried out again. "I have something to say!"

"Anderson, this is not a convenient time, as you can see, or maybe you can't, because you are effectively lowering the IQ of the entire tower," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Yes, man-with-ridiculous-flowing-locks," Moriarty admired Anderson's hair. "please go and be somewhere else."

John sighed. "What is it, Anderson?"

Anderson looked grateful. "I came to tell you that there's a man called Steven Moffat downstairs. He wants to talk to you."

"Steven-who?" Moriarty asked.

"Moffat-what?" Sherlock inquired.

"How did you even manage to climb up through the window?" John interjected.

"You forgot to pull up your hair."

John shuddered at the thought of Anderson's grimy hands wiping all over his hair.

"HELLO? Steven Moffat? Who's that?" Moriarty asked again, sounding annoyed.

"He's a writer. He wants to talk to you about making your lives into a television show."

Sherlock blinked in surprise. "Well, tell him we're busy!" He turned to Moriarty. "Look, sorry for interrupting your little 'Final Problem' rampage."

"No, it's fine! When duty calls..."

"You can shoot us in a minute, okay?"

"No, it's alright! Take your time, I don't have anything better to be doing!"

"There's another man down there as well... Mark Gatiss?" Anderson noted.

Moriarty's head snapped up.

"Mark Gatiss?" he shouted joyfully, "Well, why didn't you SAY so? He's the Master of Horror and Ungodliness!"

Moriarty's grin was so wide, that it looked like his face was going to split in two. "The League of Gentlemen was my favourite show as a kid! He's my IDOL!" Moriarty threw the gun away and jumped out of the window, shouting "Wait for me Mark, wait for meeeeeeeee!"

Anderson, Sherlock and John watched as Moriarty fell into Mark Gatiss' arms, before eagerly giving him a smooch on the cheek, with an lavish throwing-arms-around-the-neck gesture. The laser pointers on their chests disappeared.

"He looks too much like Mycroft." Sherlock shook his head in disgust, watching Moriarty's little flirting scene from above.

"At least your problems are sorted!" Anderson smiled.

"Why are you still here?" Sherlock sighed.

"Not quite ALL of our problems!" John cried, "I've still got to stay in this tower, and I don't know how to stop my hair from growing!"

"Wait, your hair? It won't stop growing? That's why you're up here?"

"Anderson! Stop filling this room up with your stupid questions! Yes, OBVIOUSLY, that's why he is up here! Why else would anyone be locked up in a tower?"

"Wait? Locked up? What difference does it make if he's locked up or not?" Anderson interrupted.

"He has a point!" John exclaimed, then turning to Sherlock he asked, "Yes, Sherlock, WHY am I _locked up_?"

"That is besides the point! We are trying to stop your hair from rapidly growing," Sherlock interjected.

"No, it isn't!"

"Yes, it is!"

"Wait, wait, wait! Did you try true love's kiss?" Anderson asked, eyebrows raised.

"Brilliant, Anderson!" Sherlock praised.

"Really?" he asked surprised.

"Yes, brilliant impression of an idiot! Of course we tried that, you moron! It was the first thing-"

"Third," John corrected.

"Shut up. The point is that we tried, and it didn't work!"

"Then, did you try dancing?"

"Yes."

"Ah! But did you try dancing WITH your true love, like in beauty and the beast, and theeen kiss?"

"No, no we didn't..." Sherlock said slowly.

"Well, there you go! That is the cure! Well, of course, that or rubbing some coconut oil on it... Either one."

"Anderson, how do you know all of this?" John demanded. Anderson was the stupidest person he knew, and Sherlock was the smartest. How did Anderson figure this out so quickly, when it took Sherlock practically a month, and still no results?

"Oh, I had this same problem, when I used to have a beard."

"YOU HAD A BEARD?" John burst, laughing. "How did I never know this?"

"It was only in the pilot," Sherlock dismissed.

"Wait, sorry, what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, it doesn't mean anything!" Sherlock said suddenly. "Now, about those gentlemen downstairs-"

"Sherlock, I think my hair is more important right now!" John cried.

"John, I love you, but I think the gentlemen downstairs are more important than-"

"Sherlock, dance with me or I'll throw you out of the window!"

Sherlock quickly slipped an arm around John's waist, linking their hands, before proceeding to slowly waltz around with his around the interior of the tower.

John felt his frustration slowly disperse, and soon he had buried his face in Sherlock's neck, and was gently humming a tune to their dance.

They spun around the tower, carefully maneuvering around John's abundant locks. It was a comfortable, gentle, love-filled...

'I CAME IN A WRECKING BAAAAALL!'

"ANDERSON! Turn that hideous, white noise off NOW!" Sherlock protested.

Anderson paused his iPod, looking dejected.

The pair slowly began to immerse themselves in their love again. The OOC meter in the room ran to considerable lengths. They stared at each other; their eyes, smiles and hearts (and possibly their lungs) were filled with all things good and proper. Anderson flicked through his iPod, trying not to interrupt the love-filled couple. He wondered if they would object to him playing 'Blurred Lines,' but he decided not to risk it. *

*For the record, they would have thrown him out the window. And lost count.

Finally, they fell into each other's embrace, and gently ended their dance with a kiss.

When they pulled away, Sherlock raced across the room and grasped a pair of scissors.

He quickly returned to John and immediately snipped of his hair, leaving John with shoulder length hair. Sherlock smiled triumphantly, when it did not grow back, but it only lasted for a moment, because then his hair began to grow at an alarming rate, much faster than before.

"AGH! What is happening?" John cried out.

"I- I don't understand," Sherlock said quietly.

"Ah, you guuuys. You didn't make it romantic enough!" complained Anderson.

"But- but I did everything that you said- we danced and everything!" Sherlock said, highly annoyed, now pacing the room.

"No that's- that's not it... Maybe... maybe it isn't true love..." John said quietly.

Sherlock turned on his faster than you could say 'Raxacoricofallapatorius'. "What?" he demanded, "No, of course it is, don't be ridiculous, John!"

"But we've tried everything... maybe it's just not-"

"Don't you say that! Remember Lestrade's love measuring device? That proves it!"

"Yes, but that was just a _love_ meter, not a _true love_ meter, Sherlock. Who's to say-"

"It doesn't matter, John! I know what we are!"

"Sherlock, you, you can't know that. I know what I feel, but you- you've never had this sort of experience before..."

"John, don't you for a second doubt that my love isn't true! I know it is _because _I have no experience, because I know I could never love anyone else!"

"Sherlock..."

"Don't you 'Sherlock' me! _I_ am the genius! I know what I am talking about! And I might not be the best judge of emotions, but I know what I am feeling, and that is true love!" He crossed the room towards John, but John would not look at him. He took Johns face in his hands and made him anyways. He needed to understand. Now they were face-to-face, inches apart. "I love you, John Hamish Watson, with all my heart, forever."

"Sherlock," he answered softly, but not a refusal or disagreement, but a realisation, a plea.

The distance between them was quickly closed and Sherlock pulled his face to John's, crushing their lips together. It lasted only for a moment though, because Sherlock pulled away. He really didn't want to, and it wasn't entirely his choice, it was because then he realised something strange happening.

John's hair was glowing gold. There was literally gold light emitting from his hair. It was beautiful, mesmerising. Then the light began to run up his hair, all traveling to his head, until only a short part of his hair was glowing, and the rest just fell off, disconnected. It left John with a beautiful head of short blonde hair, as it was before any of this happened.

John looked down at his fallen hair in awe and surprise, then reached up to run his hands through his crop cut. He looked up at Sherlock, who was already staring at him, and their eyes met with intensity.

"Awww yeah! I told you guys! You just needed to be more romantic!" Anderson was quickly shut up by two very dangerous glares. "I, oh, uh, right. I'll just be going then..." and with that he dove out of the window.

Sherlock and John's eyes met once more.

"Sherlock, I-"

"BOOOOYS! What aaare you doing? We are discussing a TV deal! Get your cute little arses down here!" Moriarty called up. Sherlock groaned in response and John sighed a little, but they both nodded and started towards the window.

Then, remembering the stairs, they spun around, Sherlock and John raced down and out of the door, to find Moriarty, still cradled in Mark Gatiss' arms.

"Will one of you please get him off me?" Mark asked in annoyance.

"Oh, Mark, what are you LIKE?" Moriarty giggled.

"You do realize I'm married."

"Not legally."

"Civil partnership."

"Fifty-fifty."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Your skin is gorgeously smooth..."

"Thank you. My husband likes it too."

"Civil partner."

"I'm THIS close to dropping you."

"You are SO funny!"

Steven Moffat introduced himself to Sherlock and John as Mark threw Moriarty on the ground.

"So, are you interested in our TV deal? We have actors lined up to play you!"

From behind a tree, two men emerged: tall, gingery haired one and a short, golden haired one.

Sherlock and John blinked. The men blinked back.

"He can't play me!" Sherlock spluttered, "Look at his hair! It's... ORANGE!"

"Auburn, actually," the actor smiled, before extending a hand. "I'm Benedict Cumberbatch."

"Who?"

"And this is Martin Freeman," Steven explained, "We thought he could play you, John."

The pair of them grinned and shook hands, combined with the usual task of introductions and I-used-to-watch-you-on-the-Office talk. John couldn't help thinking that Martin looked a little bit like a Hobbit. Strangely enough, Martin was thinking the same thing about John.

"So..." Steven grinned, "Are we settled? Is this what you both want?"

John and Sherlock both looked at each other, conversing through the power of super awesome best friend/lover telepathy that only they shared.

_What do you think?_

_I like my actor; he was brilliant in all the stuff I've seen him in._

_But mine is orange!_

_Sherlock, I'm sure they'll dye his hair._

_Fine, mine is also an acceptable candidate, but are you sure you want to become a TV show?_

_No._

_Me neither._

_Well, that just means we have to do it then!_

_John, your logic is terribly flawed._

_Shut up, my logic is perfect. I want to do this. Will you do this with me?_

_But our lives, they will be displayed on television!_

_Hardly. This isn't a reality TV show; it's 'based' off of our lives, and played by different people. If there is something private that we don't want to tell them, then we won't. Plus, since when do you care about people, much less of what they think of you?_

_I was really thinking more about you than me..._

_Aww, Sherlock._

_Well, yes, I was just…_

_I love you._

_As do I._

Then they realised exactly how long they had just been staring at each other, occasionally showing facial expressions to match what they were thinking. No one said anything to avoid awkwardness, though.

Sherlock and John both turned back to Moffat and said at the same time, "Yes."

"Oh, lovely!" Moriarty cried out, gleefully.

Moffat and Gatiss smiled widely, both thanking and reassuring Sherlock and John that they would get all information from them and go through all of it together first, making sure not to get only Moriarty's side of the story. They both nodded in response and watched as the two writers walked off, Moriarty skipping happily after, and the two actors after him, just walking though, not skipping of course.

John grabbed Sherlock's hand, and Sherlock looked down at their intertwined fingers, and then back to John, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, shut up." John blushed, but Sherlock just gave his fingers a light squeeze in response.

"So, this is our life now..." John said conversationally.

"Yes, I suppose it is. And to think, it all started with cats." He smirked playfully.

They laughed together, and strolled back to the tower, hands still linked. Sherlock approached a pile of John's hair and experimentally nudged it lightly with the toe of his shoe.

"Well, that was tedious."

"Yes, it was."

"And to think, we could've just used coconut oil..."

John laughed, "Yes, that might have been easier, but this… it was better."

"Yes, definitely."

Sherlock leaned in and lightly brushed his lips against John's and they smiled together.

"Oi, guys! What am I supposed to do with all this hair?"

"Oh my god, ANDERSON, SHUT UP!" they both roared at the same time.

They both looked back at each other then, pleased.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

And they lived happily ever after (except for Anderson).

THE END

* * *

**A/N: SURPRISE. Yep, folks, it turned into a tangledfic. Really, while writing this, I should have seen that coming, knowing 'Imaginethat27', but it's fabulous so I couldn't care less, and I mean, who doesn't like rapunzle/tangled? Right, that's what I thought. **

**Hope you liked it! If so, please review and all that good stuff, and send some love to 'Imaginethat27'! They really are wonderful. **

**Until next time! :)**


End file.
